Time Enough
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: When everyone's entire past becomes a blank slate, boundaries crumple and doors open. Two decaying duplicates steal some time together, before the inevitable sets in. (Set during "Course: Oblivion.")


**A/N: It's been too long since I watched "Course Oblivion." If I have any blatant errors (aside from a romantic pairing you personally dislike) feel free to let me know and I'll make the corrections.**

**I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."**

* * *

He found Seven in her decaying cargo bay, in a position he'd never seen her in the year and a half she'd been aboard Voyager: sitting at the edge of her alcove, her hands resting on her knees, staring ahead blankly. Chakotay had seen a fair portion of the crew wearing similar expressions, as they contemplated their newly discovered origins, and what lay ahead. The future was looking grimmer every day. Hell, every _shift_. Every briefing.

Until a day ago, Seven had been one of the stronger people aboard, who'd resisted the spiral into depression that had taken Tom and so many others. You'd hardly even know she was a duplicate. But the most recent death had broken her. Her and many others. It had been the worst for most people by far.

Chakotay pushed the thoughts from his mind, and stepped into the cargo bay.

Even decaying, Seven's acute Borg senses alerted her to his presence. He saw her pale blue eyes flick in his direction, but the rest of her didn't move. In another second, she'd probably force herself up and apologize for her rudeness. He decided to save her the trouble.

"At ease," he said as he approached her.

Her eyes finally rolled up to him. "Commander."

The physical beauty she was known throughout the ship for was long gone. Her face was pale and sullen, her once golden hair now the color and texture of straw, tumbling out of its bun. Like Chakotay and everyone else aboard, she was covered in gelatinous rashes. Even her Borg implants looked like they were dissolving. Under any other circumstances that might've been comical. The flickering green light from the regeneration alcove made the entire scene all the more eerie.

"Seven," he said, jolting her out of her daze. "I'd like to speak to you, if it's alright."

She looked up at him, her eyes flaring. "Is it the captain?"

"No." He knelt down across from her. "The captain's fine."

Seven mumbled, "Relatively speaking."

Chakotay licked his lips. "Look, we probably don't have a lot of time to discuss this, so I'm going to cut to the chase. I don't think this crew's going to make it and neither do you. It's one thing I've always admired about you, your pragmatic…" he trailed off, seeing the strange look she was giving him.

"I was not aware you admired _anything_ about me."

Chakotay swallowed. "Seven I…"

God, there wasn't _time_ for this. One of them could take a turn for the worst any second, like B'Elanna or Celes or— He looked away, trying to shake the faces of his dead shipmates from his mind.

"We both know I didn't trust you Seven. For a hundred reasons I don't have time to list right now, I thought you'd betray us all to the Collective. But seeing as you're no longer part of the Collec—I mean, since you were never a part to beg—" He sighed.

"Since we are duplicates," Seven finished, "And I couldn't return to the Collective even if I wished to. You now have no reason not to trust me, and have had the opportunity to review all of my admirable qualities. No doubt you wish to recite them to me in hopes of comforting me before my inevitable death."

"More than that Seven." Chakotay shifted on the floor. "Much more."

She looked back up at him, under her disheveled hair.

"I don't know when it hit me, but at some point, you were no longer a drone. You were just…you. No Collective attached." He saw Seven's lips part slightly, as she took in the thought. "And what was left was…" His eyes darted around her face. "What was left was a woman, who was…uncommonly intelligent…pragmatic…had a lot more common sense than most women I've run into…with a sense of curiosity, and…was…_is_…very beautiful."

When Seven finally spoke, her words were not what Chakotay had been hoping to hear.

"You aren't proposing marriage to anyone at this point, given our odds of survival." She swallowed hard. "You're hoping to copulate, one last time, before you lose the ability to—"

"I've already _lost_ that ability." Chakotay said, a bit more harshly than he'd meant to. "Sorry. That was probably too much information."

"No," Seven said, quietly. "No, the fault was mine. I should not have assumed—I found it difficult to believe that you…"

"If we weren't dying," Chakotay said, "I'd probably have waited another year or two until we were both ready."

"Until you trusted me not to assimilate you." Though she wasn't smiling, he could sense humor in her voice.

"And until I was certain you'd mat—you were ready for that kind of thing."

Seven's blue eyes jumped around Chakotay's decaying face, lingering longest on his eyes and his forehead. Maybe without realizing it, she mumbled, "Your tattoo is melting."

A short laugh escaped Chakotay. And he could've sworn he saw a smile touch Seven's lips.

"Permission to speak freely Commander."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I said request denied. And it's Chakotay right now."

"Chakotay," Seven stared at her hands, still resting on her knees. "Perhaps I'm mistaken. But given how close you and Captain Janeway are, I would have thought that if either of you were to take a mate—"

"No." Chakotay cut her off. "That ship has sailed. We're not," he searched for a word that Seven would understand. "We're not compatible. Not as 'mates.' We've become more like brother and sister."

"And, Captain Janeway…agrees?"

Chakotay realized that it was hurting her mentor Seven was worried about, not getting into trouble.

"She's the one who decided it." Chakotay said.

"Then I hope to serve as a sufficient substitute."

"Seven!" Chakotay sat up. "It's not like that!"

Or was it?

"Actually, now that you mention it, you're right. You are a lot like Kathryn. Just take away that annoying obsession with Starfleet regulations, add some extra intelligence and common sense—"

"You speak this way, about the Captain, yet you still allow her 'obsession with Starfleet regulations' to take this ship onward to its doom."

Chakotay sighed. "I bet you're thinking what I'm thinking. In fact, I've been thinking it for days now. Why the hell haven't we mutinied yet?"

"Because the Captain has never let us down before." Seven said. "And without her some of us would be lost."

Well, that explained why _Seven_ hadn't stolen a shuttlecraft and made for the Demon planet on her own. Duplicate or not, Seven didn't want to be alone. Without the Collective, Janeway was the one she relied on for security. But why _Chakotay_ hadn't relieved the captain of command, he didn't know. Friends or not, he'd had no problem blatantly disobeying her orders in the past. And God knew Tuvok, Harry, and Tom would probably have his back if he chose to mutiny. So why didn't he? The best answer he could come up with was…

"The last thing this ship needs right now is a civil war."

The light from the alcove was still flickering over Seven's face, but it was no longer frightening to look at. Somehow the effect was oddly relaxing.

"So what about us?" Chakotay said.

"What about it." Seven's eyes met his. "There's little we can do about it. Relationships of any kind do not seem promising. Not marriage, not friendship, not ch—" Seven gasped suddenly, shaking.

Chakotay could only stare, as Seven's eyes watered up.

They were both instantly taken back to yesterday morning. The majority of the crew gathered in the mess hall (sans a few needed to run the bridge, engineering, and the like). Neelix with his arm around Samantha Wildman, as she racked with silent sobs. And behind them, Ensign Emilia Harper, who's newborn baby girl had been one of the first casualties, holding Sam's hand. There was no coffin, because when duplicates decayed there was nothing to burry. Beneath the anguish Chakotay had been feeling for Samantha and Naomi, there had also been a terror, that this would be it. This would be the last straw, this would send the crew into a full-fledged mutiny. Kathryn would be murdered in her sleep. For a split second, in that emotional state, Chakotay had even entertained the idea of being the one to do it.

Seven breathed heavily.

Chakotay suddenly realized that he was leaning in on her, with his hand cupped behind her head. He released his hold on her, unsure what else to do. Shaking, Seven took his hand and placed it back behind her head, then hooked her other arm around his neck. They sat embraced for several seconds, before Seven placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"How long have you been wanting to do that?" Chakotay whispered.

"Not long." Seven replied bluntly. "I was telling Lt. Torres the truth when I said that I had no desire for a mate." The mention of B'Elanna made Chakotay's stomach turn. "Before our condition became clear, I…did not give it much thought."

Their hands were working around each other's hair and faces, not lustfully, but comfortingly.

"If you could answer me one thing," Chakotay said. "And you can answer honestly, you don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear. Do you—" Asking her if she was attracted to him would be idiotic, after what she'd just told him. "If you could have your pick, of men from this ship," he pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. "Would I be high on the list?"

Seven's eyes moved up and down his face. "Almost certainly." She gave it more thought. "If I had been able to…address those desires, and if I had thought you would have me, I would have chosen you. You are infinitely more practical than many on this ship. You have an emotional control comparable to Commander Tuvok. I find interactions with you predictable. Comforting. And I find your facial structure intriguing…"

They'd been moving in for the kiss as she was finishing up, and that last sentence was all the permission Chakotay needed. It began timidly for both of them, but that kiss was followed by a second, and a third, each stronger and more urgent than the last. At first Chakotay was afraid of holding her too tightly, but he'd forgotten about her Borg strength. Even in this sickly state, her embrace was crushing.

When they finally broke apart long enough for Chakotay to speak, he breathed, "There's so much I wish I had time to tell you."

He felt her warm breath on his face, her fingers moving through the back of his hair nervously.

"Com—Chakotay. When you severed me from the Collective, we shared minds—briefly."

It wasn't the first time Chakotay had done it either. Months earlier he'd been linked to a Borg-like collective, via a neural transceiver. Chakotay normally didn't like having his mind tampered with. But the link with Riley had ultimately been a positive experience. (Her later betrayal notwithstanding.)

"Sorry," Chakotay joked weakly. "I don't have that neural transceiver with me right now."

Seven lifted her left hand, as if to caress his face. But her fingers weren't curved in for a stroke; she was preparing her assimilation tubes.

"I don't know if it would work," Seven stammered, "Given my condition."

A hundred possible outcomes raced through Chakotay's mind, none of them pleasant. But what the hell did he have to lose? What was the worst that would happen? He'd become a drone and start assimilating people, or go insane and vaporize a few shipmates with his phaser, cutting their already dwindling lives short by a few days?

Chakotay gave his head a tiny shake. "Try it."

He caught his breath as the tubes stung his neck. He'd forgotten to prepare himself for the pain. It was like being stabbed with two snaking needles. He could've sworn he could feel the nanoprobes pumping into his veins. But then came the familiar sensation of a neural link. Though he'd only experienced it twice so far, it was like riding a bicycle. In seconds, they knew each other's deepest fears, hopes, childhood memories, and many things they themselves rarely even thought about, but that flooded up so automatically to the mind when reminded.

They didn't speak, or even look at each other. They sat embraced, sharing a mind. They experienced each other's reactions to the news of being duplicates, and to the deaths of their shipmates. B'Elanna's death coupled with the discovery that they were all duplicates had caused Chakotay to cry—outright cry—for the first time in well over a year (in the privacy of his quarters of course). Naomi's death had done it to him again. Seven had retreated to her cargo bay for the rest of the day and the entire night, after the news of Naomi Wildman's death. In a matter of hours, she had gone through a range of emotional responses she hadn't experienced since before her assimilation: sobbing uncontrollably; pounding consoles and tossing crates in a rage; screaming; attempt after attempt to dissect her feelings in a log entry, before giving up.

One of them—neither knew who—wondered what they'd do if they could survive, and return "home" to the Demon planet. Chakotay would redesign his tattoo, to establish his individuality. Go on a vision quest to speak to the man he thought of as his father. Perhaps select a new name for himself. Seven would do something similar. She'd still stick with a number, Borg fashion, but something that defined her as a part of this new collective of duplicates.

"_Senior officers to the bridge_."

Chakotay and Seven slowly broke apart. The neural link was still strong, but Chakotay could already feel it fading.

"How long does it normally last?" he asked her.

"Indefinitely." Seven said, stating the obvious. "Until the drone is severed from the Collective. In our case however, I cannot say. It is not customary for a liberated drone to assimilate. Given our predicament, it's likely that the nanoprobes themselves will dissolve."

Unable to think of anything else to say, Chakotay rose, and offered his hand to help Seven up. They left the cargo bay together, and headed for the bridge.

* * *

Some feint link remained between the two of them, for the next several days. Seven was vaguely aware of Chakotay's whereabouts and emotions for at least half the time.

She felt it in engineering, when she was helping Tabor on repairs. The Bajoran's nose ridges had melted together, and he needed her help in part because his right eye was almost fused shut and he just needed another pair of eyes. She was typing at the console on the railing around the warp core, when something snapped. It was comparable to the feeling of being severed from the Collective, but the almost in reverse. When she'd been freed from the Borg, she'd felt herself being plucked from the Hive Mind. Now she'd felt something within her being yanked out. It was as if half of her own essence had suddenly vanished.

Refusing to give her emotions time to respond, Seven tapped her com badge. "Computer, locate Commander Chakotay."

"_Commander Chakotay is in Sickbay_."

Correction, Chakotay's body was in Sickbay.

Tabor was staring at her. Seven tried to get back into her work, but it simply wasn't possible. Without excusing herself, she left Engineering and took off down the hall, with no particular destination in mind.

For the first few corridors, her blood was raging, and she had nothing else in mind besides seizing Captain Janeway and tossing her to the ground, then treating her to a beating worthy of B'Elanna Torres, while demanding—in a screaming voice—if she was satisfied. When she reached the turbo lift, the rage had shifted to herself, for allowing the Captain's stubbornness to do this to all of them. But what could Seven have done anyway? No, she realized, it was Chakotay who was to blame. Perhaps even more than Janeway herself. Everyone knew that the captain was irrational, often at the times when it mattered most. Chakotay knew so better than anyone. He had the knowledge and the power to relieve her of duty and take them back to the Demon planet, but hadn't, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty to Janeway, which Seven remembered that she herself had shared.

She didn't remember giving the turbolift a destination, but apparently she had. It deposited her in the hallway outside of Sickbay. And Janeway was right there, headed towards the turbolift, even as Seven was stepping out. All of Seven's rage vanished when she saw the Captain's face. Janeway looked like she'd been assimilated…or better yet, like a drone who'd just been severed from the Hive. Her face was blank, her eyes empty, looking just as Seven felt. Chakotay's death had had a more powerful affect on the captain than anything previously, even Naomi and Harper's unnamed infant.

Janeway stopped in the turbolift, locking eyes with Seven just for a nanosecond. Then she jerked her head away and shut the turbolift doors.

Seven entered Sickbay to find the Doctor working over Chakotay's corpse. The commander's body was already in the final stages of decay, his skin a sickly gray. The Doctor's eyes flicked up as Seven strode over to the bed. She impressed herself, with her control. But then again, it wasn't so much control as numbness. Without offering the hologram any explanation, Seven placed her hand behind Chakotay's head, to feel his hair one last time. She should not have been surprised to find it thinner and weaker than before, nor to see the black strands falling over her fingers and breaking away. It wasn't even falling _out_, just crumbling, like dead grass.

"Seven…?" the Doctor whispered.

Seven took her hand away. Her fingers hovered over Chakotay's face, but she decided not to touch him again.

"Doctor," Seven said quietly. "In the year I've been an individual, you've been my closest friend."

The hologram's eyes widened. Seven couldn't remember the last time she'd ever used such a word, and in all likelihood neither could he.

"There is much I should have told you. Much I have to be grateful for."

It was a cliché to say that a deceased body resembled a person peacefully sleeping, but Seven now understood how that cliché had come about. She recalled no strong emotions from Chakotay's end, when their link had snapped; he'd been unconscious. Perhaps in the company of his animal guide, or speaking with his (counterpart's) father. She felt a desire to meet her own fate in a similar fashion. After speaking with the Doctor, she decided, she would go to her other closest friend, the captain. And tell her, with complete honesty, that she blamed her for the deaths of the entire crew…and how grateful she was for all Janeway had done for her up until now. A peculiar mix of emotions. Ironic, how much one could discover about her own humanity with something as simple as an inevitable death lying days away.

"Seven," the Doctor said gently, "Are you alright?"

"I…just had a thought. About the real Voyager."

The Doctor looked at her, urging her to continue.

"They're still alive, on a functioning vessel, in all likelihood. No doubt with an indefinite amount of time in the Delta Quadrant ahead of them."

"It's…a comforting thought, on some levels." The Doctor said.

"I'm not certain it is." Seven's gaze lingered on Chakotay's body. "Without the threat of death, humans may postpone any number of important events. The neglect could be…damaging."

The Doctor searched for something comforting to say, but was at a loss.

_Now_ the emotions were beginning to surface.

Without saying another word, Seven left the biobed and strode out of Sickbay.

* * *

**A/N: Special thanks to Trek Core. Without wanting to re-watch the actual episode, it always helps to review screen caps, to remind oneself of the details. **

**If the mention of Ensign Harper's baby seems out of the blue, watch "Course Oblivion" again. Early in the episode, Captain Janeway mentions happily in her loge that "Ensign Harper's new baby" was another recent event, along with Tom and B'Elanna's wedding. After that, the newborn is never mentioned again, but once you think about it in the context of the rest of the episode, the implications are tragic. **


End file.
